In Peace, Vigilance
by devilsalt
Summary: Vigil's Keep is healing, the Wardens growing, but the Commander has new struggles. The companions have noticed their leader has not been the same since her recent venture. Finding Morrigan did not bring the closure she sought, and the Commander's unraveling has begun to threaten the peace in Ferelden. Will be rated M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Originally this was suppose to be a sequel to The Warden's Rose, but since I intend to cover all the wardens life, I just had to get this started. More of Awakening's wardens will be introduced in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

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**_HOMECOMING_**

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"Wake-up lad, we've arrived in Amaranthine."

Carver let out an exhausted sigh. His body ached, he was hungry, and the taste of darkspawn blood had yet to leave his tongue. The younger Hawke should have been happy to be free of his brother's shadow and to finally be home in Ferelden, but he wasn't. If he hadn't followed his brother into the Deep Roads, Carver wouldn't be where he is now, miserable in the cabin of a ship heading to port and a Grey Warden. He still felt nauseous from the Joining. In the end, however, he owed the Wardens his life. That was three times now that he should have been dead.

The Warden-Lieutenant, Stroud, lingered a moment longer, "Once we dock, we will ride to Vigil's Keep. There awaits warm beds and hot meals."

"You had me at hot meal," Carver jested, stumbling to his feet, and hitting a wall just as the ship jerked to a halt.

Stroud laughed and patted the rookie Warden on the shoulder, "See you up top."

His empty stomach growled as he stretched his stiff limbs. Since the Joining, Carver hadn't kept anything down except for cold stew broth and water. Then again, he wasn't exactly hungry after downing a cup of darkspawn blood, but two weeks at sea had suddenly changed that. Now, Carver was starving and could eat a horse; confirmed by another loud growl from behind his belt. Groaning, he followed the path Stroud took to the deck and welcomed the fresh sea air.

The docks were bustling and loud, fishermen running up and down the docks as more ships lined up to to take anchor. It was nearly sunset, with the horizon red and sea behind him calm. Stroud was watching on as the gangplank was lowered, barking directions in his hefty Orlesian accent to the two other wardens with him. Carver stalked across the deck, foot asleep, something foreign rattling around his neck. The Ferelden native fingered the amulet, noticing the deep red fluid float back and fourth in a tiny vial.

"Darkspawn blood," came Stroud's gruff tenor, catching Carver off guard. The lieutenant reached beneath his royal blue collar and yanked free a matching vial, holding it to the fading sunlight. The tiny glass container was stained black, nothing sloshing back and fourth anymore. "Warden's Oath—we are all given one when we survive the Joining." Stroud tucked it back into his shirt and gave Carver a faint smile that was hidden behind his dashing mustache, "It is a reminder of the brothers and sisters we loose to the taint." The Orlesian warden stomped down the gangplank, nodding at the fishermen passing by and hurrying home to their families. "Oh—" he turned on his heel and looked up at Carver, still grinning, "I understand you're originally from Lothering?" The young Hawke nodded. "Welcome back," Stroud said and headed down the dock towards the mainland.

Carver quickly followed in suit, matching Stroud's pace. "Anders is a warden, why didn't he have one of these?" He was still examining the amulet, curious.

Stroud scoffed and stopped, "_Was_ a warden." He continued moving into the city, huffing and cursing, "That mage has been nothing but trouble for the Commander, ever since he and that spirit—" They side stepped around a gathering of locals and continued shaking his head, "but you know all about his _condition._"

"You knew him before he and that thing—" Carver started, interest peaked as they were breezing through Amaranthine.

"Me? No, but the Commander did," the lieutenant answered, "according to her, he wasn't always out for templar blood. He even told jokes. Unfortunately, when that spirit's body died, Anders offered himself up, and, well, you know the rest."

Amaranthine was glittering around them. The setting sun reflected from one window to another, complimenting a city that was at the end of healing. Walls and businesses had been rebuilt since the attacks, families returned to their homes, and the farmers had flourishing fields again. Carver wondered if Lothering was back on its feet yet, if the windmill still stood, if that qunari was still caged. More importantly—if their home was still standing. They had left in such a hurry, he wasn't able to collect any personal valuables before they fled. He wouldn't truly be home until he stepped foot in Lothering.

They continued through the city, the locals happily greeting the wardens as they passed through. Stroud was happy to oblige to the praise, smoothing his mustache as they passed a gathering of ladies. He turned to see Carver's confusion, his hesitant nod and wave at those that greeted them. "Just over a years ago," Stroud started, just as they were walking under the front guard towers. "After the Blight, there was still a pocket of darkspawn attacking the countryside. The Commander had just taken control over the arling of Amaranthine and these lingering darkspawn were smarter than the ones in the Blight." The walked through the city's front gate, aligned with street markets and had a recently paved road, with unleveled stones. The other two wardens were waiting with horses, handing the reigns of a black steed to Stroud. "When they finally attacked the city, she choice to save the city over Vigil's Keep—where the wardens were stationed, we nearly lost the Keep," the lieutenant passed along another pair of reigns to Carver. "Since then, the city has great respect for the Commander and the wardens. And soon enough," Stroud paused, "she will have yours."

The wardens took to their mounts and headed south from Amaranthine. By then, the sun had sunken beyond the horizon and was replaced by the moon. Clouds were rolling in from the sea, thick and black. Stroud took notice to the approaching storm and had them riding harder to Vigil's Keep. Carver felt the wind on his face, that familiar stink of dirt and dogs. He forgot how much he missed the grass and mud of Fereldan, nothing compared to the smoke and metal of Kirkwall. Whether they got the estate back or not, the Free Marches would never be home. For the first time, Carver felt himself smile, even as the rain started to come down and the road ahead grew dark. _This_ felt like home.

Stroud had them following a lit path before the complete darkness had settled in. Ahead was Vigil's Keep, greeting them with a flood of light. There was a fire in all the windows, smoke from a larger pit of flames just behind a heavy gate. Two guards let them in, not minding the abrupt downpour. A grand bonfire in the center of the courtyard was slowing going out, men and women going to and fro as they sought shelter. Someone took their horses as they dismounted, Carver being dragged towards the partially opened doors into the Keep. Which was fine, he couldn't see much in the dark anyways.

The main hall was empty, save for piles of wood and stone. Renovations were being made, but it was apparent the workers had retired for the night. Carver was ringing out his shirt and running a hand back through his dark hair when he heard loud commotion through an open door down the hall. Stroud sent the other two wardens away and came up to the newest member, heavy arm swung over his shoulders. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep lad," he slapped Carver on the shoulder, "good luck."

As they approached the open door where the clinking of forks and drunken merriment was ringing through the hallway, a man met them at the doorway. He was tall and his hair cut short, but it was the tattoo on his face that stood out. "Ah Draco!" Stroud exclaimed, greeting the other man as an equal.

"Stroud." The man was not as enthused, but his voice was familiar—the accent at least.

"Taking the new recruit to the Commander," the Orlesian warden answered.

"The Commander hasn't returned." Draco eyed Carver, not impressed—his accent still annoyingly familiar—then disappeared back into the mess hall.

Carver noticed Stroud's demeanor falter for a moment, his worrying masked by another cheerful smile. "Let's eat!"

The mess hall was loud and full of food. Two long tables centered the room, both full of men and women, dwarves and elves, all enjoying a festivity of drinks and boar. Nothing smelled more heavenly. Carver followed behind Stroud, watching as he filled a flagon of ale and made a toast with a red-headed dwarf. He noticed the tattooed man again—Draco—sitting alone in the corner, observing the dining of others. The novice wondered if he was somehow important, perhaps higher in rank like Stroud was. However, before he could continue to ponder, a battle-axe was suddenly blocking his path.

It was the red-headed dwarf, with a beard full of crumbs and grease, narrowing his drunken gaze at Carver. He belched. "I smell a baby warden," he grunted, not moving his weapon. Carver wasn't sure how to react or what to say, he simply stood there hoping Stroud would spring into action. Instead, it was the other dwarf beside him.

"Leave him alone Oghren—" she punched him in the shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Sorry, he's only a little more easy to tolerate when he's sober so get use to it now," she explained for the dwarf. She had tattoos on the whole of her face, similar to some of the dwarves he travelled with into the Deep Roads. "I'm Sigrun, this unfortunately is Oghren."

Oghren scoffed and muttered under his breath as he finished his drink, pointing at his eyes and then back at Carver.

Sigrun elbowed him this time, "Just ignore him, like we all do. Hey—hey Myrah! Bring a drink to the novice here!"

Carver followed the dwarf's line of sight and met large forest green eyes. She was skinny and barefooted, long pointed ears poking through a dark mane. Her smile was bright, but shy as she approached the table. Myrah handed Carver a tall flagon of ale, "I wasn't aware the Commander was recruiting." Her mannerism was similar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"She's not," Sigrun piped in, "he came in with Stroud."

The armed dwarf finished his drink and poked Carver with a fork, "What made you so special baby warden?"

The 'baby warden' opened his mouth to answer, but a commotion stopped him, and a loud voice.

"Commander."

The loud conversations fell into a low rumble, all the attention was drawn towards the open doorway. Carver watched as Oghren lifted his drink in greeting and the girls nodded. He turned, feeling hesitant as the festive mood matched the woman's in the doorway. She was soaked to the bone, dripping still, with dark hair slicked against her cheeks and neck. It was hard to make any clear details in the dark, but Carver recognized the look of contemplation on her furrowed brows. The Commander scanned the room, taking a few cautious steps through the doorway as she pulled soaked leather gloves from her hands. She stopped where the ale and wine was out, oblivious to the attention she had gathered. Carver watched as she grabbed a full bottle of wine, pried the cork top free with her teeth and spat it to the ground. Then she disappeared back through the doorway. Dropped conversations immediately resumed as if she had never been there.

"Great..." Oghren groaned, taking Carver's drink and finishing it for him. He waved a finger at Carver, "Better enjoy tonight baby warden, cause tomorrow we face the ten foot tall beast with lightning bolts shooting out of the eyes."

The drunken dwarf left the table in search of more ale, ignoring the terror he left in Carver's face. "The what?"

"In other words," Sigrun sighed and tapped her drink with Myrah's, "The Commander in a bad mood."


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: I just want to thank all the followers this story has gotten in the last four days, I was honestly surprised anyone beside myself would be interested in this story. Which is why this chapter was written up quicker than I had planned, and I am already working on the next. I may come back and tweak the chapter a bit, but I will let readers know in the next chapter if any changes were made. Otherwise, please enjoy and the next chapter will be up soon.**

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**_THE COMMANDER_**

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Draco watched the Commander leave the room, very aware of her unusual behavior. She hadn't even brought a glass to go with the bottle of wine. He looked for the Warden-Constable—Nathaniel Howe—but quickly realized the former noble had already left for his chambers. The warden tried to shoulder his curiosity and masquerade his worrying behind a flagon, however, there was no fooling the Orlesian. Stroud had wandered to Draco's corner, eyes still watching the empty doorway, twisting the end of his mustache. He waited for Stroud to say something—like he always did—to have Draco do exactly what he wanted him to do. The Orlesian grinned faintly, knowing his presence was being ignored.

"Whose the kid?" Draco inquired, moving the focus to the new warden awkwardly sitting with the dwarves.

Stroud smirked, "Acquaintance of an old friend." The warden noticed Draco's disinterest and continued to rattle on. "Found him in the Deep Roads, already touched with the taint, but he survived. You're gonna have fun with this one..."

Draco's curiosity faltered to the novice, "And whys that?"

"Some sob story about being in his brother's shadow," the prim warden answered.

"My favorite," he groaned. Stroud saw the disgruntled Draco fidget from the corner of his eye. He finished his drink and growled a sigh, giving Stroud a knowing glare before stomping through the hall.

He stepped into the main room where some of the guards were sharing jokes, hushing as Draco passed them to get to the stairway. The Commander had been absent for a while, running off to the Korcari Wilds with little warning. She only sent word a week ago, with details of her return. Naturally, all the wardens had their own theories—the worst being that her Calling had arrived. The wiser wardens knew better. Before she was the Commander, she was one of two surviving lone wardens from Ostagar, and before that, she was a noble of Highever. There was a number of potential reasons why she had disappeared from her duties.

Draco followed the hallway to her office, rapping a fist against the door. "Commander?" he called to her. He heard the heavy thump of the bottle of wine she had taken with her. She didn't give him an answer, but he decided to go in anyways.

The Commander stood at her window staring into the dark beyond. It was still storming and the rain pattered loudly against the glass, lightning illuminating the room as he shut the door behind him. Her dark hair was still tucked into the cloak she had yet to remove, dripping a puddle on the floor. Her eyes were shadowed by tired circles, face red from the wind—or the wine. He noticed the bottle was down to the last drop. Draco cleared his throat and stood observant by the door, "I do not mean to pry Commander, but is everything—"

She didn't even let him finish.

"He's fine," she smirked, a fake pained smile on her scarred lips as she turned towards her warrior.

"Pardon Commander?" Draco inquired.

She turned back to the window, "The child."

Draco waited to respond, hearing the tremble in her voice. "Child commander—"

Suddenly the empty bottle was flying across the chamber, shattering against a shelf of books. "The child I forced my husband to have with a woman he hated!" she huffed, body rigid and thoughts intoxicated. "_That_ child."

He stilled, surprised. Few wardens knew exactly how she survived slaying the archdemon. Draco was one of the trusted few. He was aware of the 'Witch of the Wilds' and the ritual performed—the promise the Commander made never to seek out her former companion. Yet she did so anyways. It was all very clear now. She followed the rumors that had spawned the last few months. Disappearing before anyone could stop her. The Commander obviously was looking for answers, or closure, but from the way she swayed angrily at her desk, that was not what she got.

She slinked back to the window and pressed her cheek against the cool glass. "He has a son," the Commander whispered, careful not to let her voice tremble.

"Commander," Draco stepped to her desk, "perhaps it's time you return to Denerim for a while. Or maybe Highever, I'm aware your brother has made great progress on rebuilding—"

"No. I can't," she started, beginning to pace with her arms crossed tightly, "the Vigil is still being rebuilt—Voldrik is going to need materials—"

"Commander—"

"...the city is finally flourishing—and my recent venture has kept me away long enough..." She was rambling, something she did when she was nervous and upset. He's known her long enough to know she was delaying the inevitable.

"Vesper!" he called her by name, silencing her.

Draco walked around the desk and stood over her. She smelled of wine and woods as he breathed her in, brushing wet hair away from her face with one hand. He brushed the familiar scar on her eyebrow with his thumb and felt her step away. "As your oldest friend," the warden stepped away too, turning to collect the broken bottle as he spoke. "I think you need to speak with your husband about this."

She shook her head, "I promised him I wouldn't go after her."

"But you did anyways," he snapped back, voice emotionless as usual. He picked the large pieces of the bottle up from the ground and pulled a rug over the rest, mentally reminding himself to get a maid to clean the mess in the morning. "Doesn't the King deserve to know his child is safe?"

The glare that followed would have had any man cowering, recanting their offense, but Draco would not. He knew Vesper when she was merely a young noble coming of age. She had his loyalty then and had it still, but since joining the wardens, Draco was both friend and foe now. The Commander was not always happy with his advice, like now—even if he was right. She was moments from reminding Draco of her authority, beyond the wardens, but a knock interrupted the tense moment.

Stroud poked his head through the doorway, took notice to the Commander's angry glower, and pushed the door wider anyways. He was followed by the new recruit—Carver. Vesper hid her surprise, instead giving the new warden a once over. He was tall, almost a match in stature to Draco, with dark hair and a young face. Clearly nervous by the way he avoided looking her in the eye and respectively keeping his distance. Meanwhile, the Orlesian warden noticed the shards of glass in Draco's hand and Vesper's lingering glare. "A new recruit Commander," Stroud announced nonchalantly and casually pushed Draco out of the way. "Found him in the Deep Roads," he added, standing between the Commander and Draco.

Taking the hint, Draco left the room. Carver watched him vanish into the dark hallway, curious of what he might have missed.

"Your name?" he heard her ask, voice surprisingly calm despite the terrifying glare still on her face.

"Carver—Carver Hawke," he stuttered as his stomach growled again.

The Commander's demeanor changed and she moved towards the scattered piles of parchment on her desk, looking up at Carver between pages. "Hawke, that sounds familiar..." she suggested.

Carver wondered when this would happen, "My brother..."

"No—" she intervened, now handing piles of papers to Stroud, "I've only heard the name once." The Commander was going through her hand of parchments, pausing as she traced words with her finger, suddenly paling. She met Carver's gaze, her glare gone but replaced with something more haunted. He watched as she handed the page to Stroud, whose face lit in surprise. "You were a soldier in Ostagar," the Commander finally said, eyes narrowed again. "This is a list of all the bodies never accounted for," she slipped past Stroud before he could stop her, stepping up to Carver. "Your name is on there."

The new warden wasn't sure how to respond, whether the Commander saw him a coward or a survivor. "I was ma'am," he stuttered. Her stare never changed, even as she walked away and back to the window. "I saw what Loghain did to the Wardens—" Carver piped up, feeling the need to explain his absence from the battlefield. "We were being slaughtered, I—I had to get my family away from the horde. I couldn't abandon them to the same fate as the men in Ostagar." The young Hawke felt Stroud grab his arm and shake his head, stopping him.

He saw the Commander's fist fidget. Stroud cleared his throat, "I'll show him to his chamber Commander, please get a good night of sleep."

The lieutenant was dragging Carver from the room, but not before he saw the Commander collapse into her chair, face buried into the palms of her hands. Had he said something wrong? Noticing the novice was still distracted, Stroud squeezed his arm. Carver winced, but complied. "Was she at Ostagar?" he curiously inquired, assuming she may have come from Orlais as well.

"Was she at Ostagar..." Stroud annoyingly mocked, quickening his pace as they headed back down the stairway and across the main room through another doorway.

Carver was lead down beneath the Keep, where it was cold and wet from the rain. He walked past closed doors where he could hear snoring and movement. They passed a large chamber with tables, one occupied by a group of wardens playing cards, all taking notice of Stroud and his ward. "Listen little Hawke—" Stroud started as they neared the end of a hallway.

"Don't call me that—" Carver felt the collar of his shirt tighten around his neck, the cold stone of the wall against his back.

Stroud had him against the wall, not angry but frustrated. "Listen _Carver_," he rephrased, pushing him into the open doorway beside them. "The Commander isn't just any woman, she is the Hero of Ferelden. She rallied together armies across the land and slayed the archdemon, thus ending the Blight. Next time you see her, I expect you to mind your manners," the lieutenant's voice carried, silencing the game of cards down the hall. Stroud sighed and helped Carver back to his feet, "Like I told you before, there is a lot of respect for the Commander and we don't like seeing her upset."

"I didn't mean—" Stroud held his hand up and a shadow of a smile slipped beneath his large mustache.

"I know lad," he simply said, patting Carver on the shoulder and then left.

Carver turned and slunk to the bed, sinking into the uncomfortable bedding. His stomach growled again, but he wasn't sure if he dared crossing paths with the drunk elf again; or the fellow with a tattoo on his face. He pondered what Stroud noticed that he didn't when they went into the Commander's office, but decided it was probably for the best he didn't know. A sigh crept out as he thought about Mother and how she would react to the news of him becoming a warden. After loosing Bethany, he assumed she wouldn't receive it very well. Mother was strong though, and she still had Garrett. Carver then wondered how much longer his brother could avoid the templars, even with his growing presence in Kirkwall. There was always something about the templars there that rubbed him the wrong way.

Hunger, however, stopped his thoughts there and the young warden thought about asking the wardens playing cards if they had anything to eat.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the open door and a plate of food met Carver's growling stomach. Behind the food was the elf from earlier, carrying a pitcher of drink in her free hand. She smiled kindly and passed him to put the meal down at a table in the corner. "I figured you would still be hungry after Stroud dragged you from the feast," she spoke, a faint familiarity in her enunciations. "I remember the appetite I had after going through the Joining, I think I ate a whole herd of halla before the cravings subsided..." she spun to face Carver, her name still not coming to him, "Of course, one couldn't possibly eat an entire herd of halla—and I'm rambling." He immediately thought of Merrill. He would miss her.

"Myrah..." he suddenly remembered, relieved when she nodded happily.

"Well, Ser Carver, I'll let you eat. Unfortunately Oghren wasn't joking about how tough tomorrow's tasks will be," she replied, as she quietly walked past him again, "Sleep well."

She disappeared before he could say anything more. Carver placed his full attention on the hefty plate she brought him, towered in meat and potatoes and cheese. He ate it all quickly, no time to savor how more favorable the food was then the food in the mess hall; or that there wasn't cheese served at the dinner he attended earlier.


End file.
